Smoke & Mirrors
by A Word Unheard
Summary: Catherine has her eyes on the prize; Chat Noir is ready for a round of cat and mouse.


**Author's note:**

My incredible line of logic is as follows..."Hey, there's been a lot of Lucifer x Sandalphon fanfiction on Archive of Our Own lately. I guess I'll write something about the phantom theives and Barawa then."

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Chekhov's Gun**

 _3...2...1...!_

The very moment the Grancypher touched down, Detective Barawa was off like a speeding bullet. His massive Draph body barreled across the ship deck, launching himself onto dry land with a resounding thud. With his trusty pup, Buddy, tucked under one arm, breakfast haphazardly shoved into his mouth, and a bright gleam in his eyes, Barawa looked like a mad man racing to place a last minute bet. He hadn't even bothered to holler a farewell to his crew before departing, leaving a confused helmsman in his wake.

"Now where's he off to in such a hurry? We've barely just docked." Rackam sighed, staring after the eager detective. He threw a glance over at the captain of the ship and raised an eyebrow, expecting a response.

"Who, Barawa? He got a tip a while ago about some upcoming heist. I'll bet he's off to... _investigate_." Gran replied nonchalantly, emphasizing the final word of his sentence with air quotes.

"When's he ever gonna learn? This kind of thing usually goes south or ends up being nothing." Rackam groaned, scratching his stubble.

Whenever the self-declared master detective got involved in a case, he had a penchant for attracting all manner of unsavory characters and further aggravating the situation. In fact, the last time Barawa had tried to investigate a matter, it resulted in being hunted down by a crime syndicate for several weeks. It was only through a combination of supportive assistants, his own brute strength, and sheer dumb luck that Barawa had survived for so long in his field.

"Oh, it's not _that_ bad." Gran insisted, waving his hand dismissively. "Let him live a little and enjoy his hobby."

"His hobby involves getting caught up in _crime_ ," Rackam pointed out warily.

"That's true—but nothing can really stop him when he's fired up like that."

Rackam shrugged, letting the topic drop. If the captain didn't see this as a major concern, then why should he? "Well, if Barawa isn't back by lunch time, Lyria will definitely eat his food."

Gran laughed at the idea. "He can always take my share if he needs to. I'll be out in the town for a while, so I think I'll try some local cuisine."

"What, you have a secret case to crack open too, Captain?" Rackam joked, only to be met with a mysterious, knowing smile.

"Something like that, yes."

* * *

Within a few seconds of arriving at his destination, Barawa had already found himself with the short end of a stick. More specifically, at the sharp end of two spears—the only things blocking his way from the isolated estate beyond. He slowly brought up both hands to demonstrate his innocence.

"Easy there," Barawa said, trying to keep his voice calm and even. A trickle of sweat hung precariously from his chin.

The two armed guards standing before him tensed. Neither bothered to lower his weapon. They must have been sweating to death in that heavy armor of theirs, but their movements were both intentional and fluid.

"State your name and business," one demanded, narrowing his eyes. The other's glance alternated between the pistol that sat snugly in Barawa's holster and the growling dog by the Draph's feet.

"Why, I'm the one...the only...the master detective, Barawa!" he proclaimed, earning nothing but hesitant looks from the guards. "I am, of course, here to investigate where my greatest adversary, Chat Noir, may strike next!"

"I've never heard of Chat Noir having a nemesis," one of the guards stated matter-of-factory. His partner nodded. "What organization do you represent, detective? Surely you sport the proper credentials if you make such bold claims."

"Hahaha! I'm looking to make a name for myself with just this old noggin of mine." Barawa admitted, tapping his temple. He neglected to mention that it was often a red headed noble or his nagging assistant that kept him on track. "No affiliations, I'm afraid-but the Bureau of Investigations _did_ seek me out! That's certainly a testament to my prowess, isn't it?"

Barawa paused, realizing that he was going off on a tangent. He started veering back to the subject at hand. "But enough about me; how's about you fine fellows let me slip by-Eep!"

The detective was cut off when one of the men advanced, thrusting his spear in an attempt to pierce through him. This sent Buddy into a barking fit.

"Watch how you're using that thing!" Barawa bellowed, shooting a glare at the guards. "You could have seriously skewered me!"

"Good," the more talkative of the two guards grumbled, "begone with you, imposter-lest you wish to spend the rest of your life rotting in a dungeon!"

"Me, an imposter?!" Barawa cried, jaw dropping. He never thought that he would be called _fake,_ of all things. "I've already told you, I'm Detective Bara-waaagh!"

Again, he was cut off by a spear being jabbed at him. Barawa clumsily side stepped, letting the weapon strike the pavement instead of his flesh. At this point, Buddy was in a bouncing, barking frenzy, attempting to protect his owner. This did not deter the guards from drawing nearer, weapons ready.

"Stop doing that, will you!" Barawa begged, but to no avail.

"Nice try, but you can't fool us," a guard sneered, "the Bureau's appointed detective already arrived. We can see through your deception, Chat Noir!"

"Wh-Whaaat?! I'm no criminal!" Barawa realized the moment those words left his mouth that they only made him seem more suspicious than ever before. There were too many newfound thoughts flying through his mind for him to consider retracting his statement.

The Bureau had gotten itself involved in this case as well? Who had they sent to handle it? Had he been beaten to the punch, despite being tipped off in advance? And how dare these men accuse him of being Chat Noir when he and the thief were nothing alike!

"Lies!" the first guard declared before turning to his partner and offering an idea. "Let us detain him for the real detective to interrogate."

"Yes, let's."

The duo inched closer, causing Barawa to take several large steps backward.

Instinctively, he reached for Derringer, but stopped short.

He began considering alternatives at this point. If he turned back now to run into the safety of a nearby town, he'd surely put civilians in danger. There was definitely no way he could charge at the guards and then scale the gates; that would only give them time to catch up to him, or to call for reinforcements. Fighting was something Barawa wanted to avoid at all costs-it would only reflected badly on him and his services.

The only thing he _could_ do at this point was to…

 _...abandon reasoning!_

Shoving a hand into his holster, Barawa fished out his pistol and threw it at the ground. Derringer skidded before colliding with the foot of a guard. At once, the two of them leaped back, anticipating the weapon to be a smoke or sleep bomb.

"There are rubber bullets in its chamber," Barawa clarified, "I am otherwise unarmed." Then, throwing his arms into the air, he added, "you're free to pat me down if you don't believe me."

"What is the meaning of this? Just what do you hope to accomplish by surrendering so easily, fiend?" one of the guards sputtered, utterly bewildered at Barawa's move. Now wedged squarely between Barawa and the armed men, Buddy let out a whine.

"Take me into custody, question me, do whatever you want!" the detective shouted, "All I ask of you is that you grant me an audience with your master! It's imperative that he be warned before Chat Noir strikes!"

"Silence! We will hear no more of your tall tales, and you shall receive no such audience."

Upon hearing this, Barawa's heart sank. It was all over for him before it had even truly began. He wondered if the captain would come looking for him if he never returned to the Grancypher, if Chat Noir would find his plight amusing. Barawa clenched his jaw in an act of silent defiance as the guards drew closer.

"That won't be necessary."

 _That voice!_

Barawa's eyes darted to a figure approaching from the entrance of the towering estate, clad in a wrinkled suit and dark trench coat in broad daylight. A mop of messy dark hair clung to his head from the humidity, and his fedora did little to shield his eyes from the beating sun. At once, Barawa's spirit reignited.

"Rick!"

"Barawa," he replied curtly, acknowledging the Draph's presence, "fancy meeting you here. I was wondering where that yapping was coming from. Figures it'd be you and your dog."

"Old buddy, old pal! You've come to save my hide, have you?" Barawa gushed, his face the portrait of relief. He gestured frantically at the guards "Go on, tell them I'm innocent! You can vouch for my character, can't you?"

"You know each other?" a guard asked, arching an eyebrow. His weapon remained pointed at Barawa, prepared to strike if need be. The other man prodded Derringer with the blunt end of his spear, as though testing for land mines.

"We do. He's a former colleague of mine," Rick confirmed, sticking his hands in his trench coat pockets, "must be my lucky day. We were just talking about you."

"Oh? I didn't know you bragged to your friends about me, Rick!" Barawa boomed, grinning from ear to ear. "I knew you had a heart under all that bitterness of yours."

"I did no such thing. I'm here strictly for business," Rick retorted with a turned away to address the guards. What came out of his mouth next shocked even Barawa.

"Open the gates; he could prove to be useful for this investigation."

* * *

The inside of the building was even more opulent than Barawa had been expecting. All manner of fine art and tapestries hung from every available space, every piece of furniture saddled with cloud-like pillows and tasteful patterns. Every time Barawa ran his gaze over the rooms, he noticed new details he hadn't caught in his first glance.

Unfortunately for him, his fascination was mixed with a tinge of nausea. The air, perfumed with the scent of heady amber, made Barawa feel a little sick. He wondered what kind of person lived in this type of luxury, day in and day out.

"Go on, you lug. Sit," Rick ordered, snapping the Draph back into reality. He pointed to a two large armchairs oriented to face an even more massive couch, where a stranger sat. The coffee table between the seats was littered with a collection of maps, diagrams, and notes.

Barawa immediately planted himself down while Rick claimed the armchair beside him-and Buddy made himself at home by his master's feet.

"So this is the great Detective Barawa that I've heard so much about," the stranger across from him remarked, an amused smile playing on his lips. "I am Lord Agreste. It is an honor to welcome you to my humble residence-though I do apologize if my security roughed you up a bit."

Unlike his home, the young lord appeared pragmatic in his simple vest and dark, slicked back hair. He had a young, elfish face unbefitting that of nobility. Something seemed oddly familiar about the fellow, Barawa remarked to himself, but he was also certain that this was the first time he had ever met the lad. He shrugged, deciding to brush off the nagging feeling in the back of his head.

"Think nothing of it!" Barawa insisted. Since he was already here, he may as well try and get in good graces. "They were just doing their job-and I _was_ getting a bit ahead of myself, haha. Luckily, Rick was there to lend me a helping hand."

"I assure you that this level of ferocity is not the norm," Lord Agreste sighed, leaning forward in his seat. His voice suddenly lowered to a harsh whisper. "The entire estate has been up in arms ever since Chat Noir sent us his calling card."

The noble's hand extended, sliding a slip of paper to Barawa for inspection. Familiar curly handwriting beamed up at the detective. His nose wrinkled at the overpowering rose aroma sprinkled on the note. Yes, this was his certainly nemesis's handiwork.

 _I will be paying a visit to you three nights from today. The Truth shall be my prize for the evening. Phantom Thief Chat Noir._

Barawa's eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets. He took a sharp intake of breath in an attempt to keep himself calm. This was surely confidential information; it was his duty as a private investigator to keep it from leaking.

"When was this?" Barawa inquired, struggling to keep his volume down. His grip on Chat Noir's calling card tightened, crumpling the edges.

"A few days ago," Rick cut in smoothly, "but that's not the strangest part." He picked up a small glossy card from the messy coffee table. "This arrived soon after."

It took Barawa all of five seconds to process what Rick now held: another calling card, this one belonging to a different phantom thief. Barawa abruptly stood up, nearly knocking over the coffee table in the process.

" _ **Chat Noir and Nightsmoke have the same target?!"**_


End file.
